


Junk Science

by thewindycity



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, For Science!, Gen, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sharing a Room, Trolling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewindycity/pseuds/thewindycity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick picks something up off the carpet between them – it's a coin, a quarter. Jon stares at it before looking back up at Patrick's face. "Why did you throw that at me?"</p><p>"To see if it would bounce, duh," Patrick says. His eyes widen when Jon looks at him blankly, eyebrows raised. "Holy shit, <i>seriously</i>? 'An ass so tight you could bounce quarters off it'...you really never heard of that?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Junk Science

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Petra's "Hockey Asspirations" post at DW: http://petra.dreamwidth.org/704324.html
> 
> Thanks to that anon prompter, and to my awesome beta for reading this over at short notice.
> 
> Please note: I have never thrown a coin at anyone's ass and tragically (not to mention surprisingly) could not find instructional video on Youtube. My apologies for any resulting errors in ass-bouncing technique!

Jon's fresh out of the shower (he'd rate it 7/10 on his personal scale: strong pressure, but no massage setting) and digging in his suitcase for clean underwear when something small and hard hits his bare ass.

He flinches and spins around. Patrick's arm is still outstretched, not that there could be any doubt that it was his doing – they're the only ones in their hotel room.

"What the fuck," Jon says flatly.

"Sharpy bet me," Patrick says with a grin, like that explains anything. Actually, it kinda does; a not-insignificant proportion of the annoying shit he does is Sharpy's fault, one way or another.

Patrick slides off his bed and picks something up from the carpet between the two of them. It's a coin, an American quarter. Jon stares at it in Patrick's hand before looking back up at his face. "Why did you throw that at me?"

"To see if it would bounce, duh," Patrick says. His eyes widen when Jon just looks at him blankly, eyebrows raised. "Holy shit, _seriously_? 'An ass so tight you could bounce quarters off it'...you really never heard of that?"

Jon shrugs, carefully maintaining a straight face. Patrick can be irritating as hell, but even after a year as roommates he still has trouble picking when Jon is fucking with him right back. Trapped together in an endless series of hotel rooms on this long swing out west, Jon will take all the chances for entertainment – and payback – he can get.

Judging by Patrick's expression, he's faking the deadpan pretty well this morning; it probably helps that Jon's never all that prone to cheerfulness before his first caffeine hit of the day. He can get up in time for team breakfast or bus call, no problem, but he doesn't have to _like_ it.

Anyway, Patrick must be convinced, because he says, "Fuck, dude. All that fancy-pants prep school education, and they never taught you about the best test for a hockey butt?"

"Must've been too busy doing homework," Jon says blandly. "I had to work super hard to graduate a year early, you know."

Belatedly, he realizes he's still standing there naked. Sharpy does some of his best trolling in the locker room, but Jon generally prefers to at least have underwear on. It's not as if he's Pinocchio or whatever, his dick growing longer when he lies...man, _if only_. It just seems polite.

Patrick shakes his head slowly, like he despairs of Jon ever becoming a real boy.

Jon turns back to his suitcase to resume the underwear hunt, and grins while Patrick can't see. It's probably a good thing that there's no photographic evidence of that Shattuck party where members of the senior boys' and girls' teams took turns with the quarters. A tape measure was involved, wielded by a pair of figure skaters serving as impartial judges. Jon won the 'best male ass' contest, and hooked up with the girl who came first; she came first with him, too, making his 17-year-old self ridiculously proud. That was a good night, all right.

"So, okay, I'll buy that this coin bouncing is a thing," Jon says, making his tone skeptical. He pulls on boxers and pants, and sits down to get his socks on. "But isn't the whole premise flawed? Like, anything thrown horizontally at a vertical surface is gonna rebound, right?"

Damn, Patrick's face is hilarious; Jon wishes he could snap a picture. He's still floundering for words when Jon adds, "That fancy-pants education of mine did include physics, even if it was apparently short on ass-testing via hard currency."

He thinks he's taken it too far, that surely Patrick will figure it out now. But being more of a morning person doesn't automatically mean that Patrick's brain is working this early. "Oh my God, what?" he finally manages. "No, like – the further away the coin lands, the tighter the ass."

"Ah," Jon says, nodding a little as he grabs a shirt he's pretty sure is clean. "But that's gotta depend on the angle of the ass relative to where the thrower is located, and the force and distance of the throw, too. It's all way too variable to be any kind of accurate gauge of glute tautness."

He has to bite his tongue to maintain the facade after that ridiculous little speech; the pain is worth it to see Patrick actually flapping his hands. "How is it you can suck the fun out of _everything_ , man?"

"Science is plenty fun," Jon tells him, mock-indignant.

The alarm on Patrick's phone goes off, then, and he gets this obvious 'saved by the bell' look on his face. "Chow time," he announces, and heads out without waiting. Once the door's safely closed behind him, Jon finally allows himself to laugh. Maybe he'll push his luck at breakfast – see if he can get Sharpy to bite, too.

Jon hates mornings, but he's definitely had worse ones than this.


End file.
